A Fountain Filled With Blood

  Clare crossed to Trisha and her family, expressed her condolences, and sat down to listen to whatever they needed to say. She again heard from Kurt how Todd had been found unconscious in his store earlier that morning. Trish told Clare about her brother’s errand to deliver candles. She heard about what a sweet, inoffensive, good boy he was from Mrs. MacPherson. Mr. MacPherson grunted something about a shotgun being better than insurance. She approached the brother who’d found Todd, a soft-spoken young man named Tim, who kept glancing worriedly at his obviously pregnant wife. Clare had to draw his story out in a backward spiral, first talking about canceling the caterer, then about speaking with the police at the scene, and finally about finding his brother’s battered body. “I can’t tell them,” he said, looking at his parents and sister. “They only saw him prepped for surgery, cleaned up and covered by sheets.” His eyes teared up. “But, oh God, I can’t stop thinking about what he looked like.”

  After an hour or so, a doctor came in with a report from the surgical team. They had removed Todd’s spleen. His liver was undamaged. There might be a problem with his kidney functions later on, but they would simply have to wait and see. They were closing up now and the surgeon would come in with more news soon. Yes, there was no question he would survive—he was young and healthy and should make a good recovery.

  The atmosphere lightened after that, and when the door opened again, everyone looked up with expressions of bright expectation, but instead of a surgeon, they saw a cop. His short-sleeved uniform shirt was tucked into jeans, and he was wearing sneakers instead of shiny brown shoes. Clare guessed she was the only person in the room who knew he was normally off duty on Saturday morning. He caught sight of her and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson? I’m Russ Van Alstyne, the chief of police.”

  Todd’s parents stood up, Mrs. MacPherson clinging to her husband’s arm. “You find the bastards who did this?” Mr. MacPherson asked. “It was a robbery, wasn’t it? I told that boy he needed real protection. Cash business like that. Bound to attract attention.”

  “We don’t know who assaulted your son yet, sir. We’ve taken prints, and hopefully that will lead us somewhere. One of my officers is interviewing neighboring business owners to find out if anyone saw anything.” He looked around. “Is Tim MacPherson here? The one who found him?”

  The brother stepped forward. “That’s me, sir.”

  “You use a key to get into the store?”

  “No, sir. The lights were off and the CLOSED sign was hanging on the door, but the door was unlocked. I told the officer who showed up after I called.”

  Russ nodded. “That’s what he said. Just checking. Sometimes people remember more after they’ve had a chance to get over the initial shock.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t appear to have been a robbery. The till is full of cash and credit-card slips. It looks like whoever assaulted Todd either grabbed him outside before he had a chance to lock the door or did it inside the store and turned off the lights before leaving.” He replaced his glasses. “We found a ring of keys hanging on a hook in the back of a shelf beneath the cash register.”

  “That’s where Todd kept his keys,” Trisha said. “I spoke with him on the phone maybe ten minutes before ten. He said something about cleaning up the mess in the store.”

  “I’m thinking if someone got to him while he was locking the door, they wouldn’t have put his keys away in exactly the right place,” Russ said. “I think whoever did this went into the store, maybe right at closing time, and I think they were looking for Todd.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Do any of you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  The MacPhersons looked at one another. Something moved between them, a message or a collective memory. “No,” Tim said. “Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  “Well…” Mrs. MacPherson hesitated. “Todd used to have trouble back when he was in school. He was one of those kids who attracts the attention of bullies. He got beaten up a few times. We reported—I reported every instance to the principal. Some kids got suspended as a result.”

  “For Chrissakes, Cathy, he finished school six years ago. Todd’s a grown man now. Nobody’s going to go after him because his Mommy got them suspended.” Mr. MacPherson shook his wife’s arm free. “Goddamn it, none of this would have happened if he had learned how to defend himself like I wanted. If you hadn’t stopped me from teaching him how to fight—”

  “Dad, Todd was never going to be like that.” Tim’s even voice sharpened to a hard point. “Give it a rest.”

  Russ glanced at Clare, then back at the family. “Is Todd gay?”

  “No!” Mr. MacPherson said immediately.

  There was another collective moment. Mrs. MacPherson glanced at her husband. “Yes,” she said. Russ looked at Trisha and Tim. They both nodded.

  Russ exhaled. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Do you think that’s it? That’s the reason Todd was hurt? Because he’s…” Mrs. MacPherson pressed her lips together in a tight line. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “There was no theft, no vandalism…. Did Todd sell drugs? Smuggle cigarettes from Canada? Was he a heavy bettor?”

  “No!” Mrs. MacPherson said. “Todd’s not like that. He works incredibly hard at his store. He’s doing a lot better than so many people his age.”

  Tim shifted and scratched the back of his neck. “He did, you know, smoke pot sometimes.” He shrugged at his mother’s expression. “Sorry, Mom, but he did.”

  “Smoking a few joints isn’t what I had in mind.” Russ’s eyes flickered toward Clare, and she caught a glimpse of amusement before he looked back at the MacPhersons. “We’re going to investigate every possible angle in order to find out who did this, then put them away for a good long time. Mrs. MacPherson, if you and your kids could give me a list of those boys who were expelled back when Todd was in school, I’d appreciate it.”

  He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. Mrs. MacPherson pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, there was Andy Poccala.” She looked at her other children as if for confirmation. Tim and Trisha nodded. Clare slipped away while Russ collected what information he could from the MacPhersons.

  Mr. MacPherson was standing, his shoulders rolled forward in the posture of a usually erect man too tired to stand straight. He was staring with apparent fascination at a CNN reporter interviewing a movie star who was gushing with happiness over her new—and fifth—husband.

  Clare drifted next to Mr. MacPherson and came to a parade rest, staring at the screen. “We are totally in love!” the improbably youthful actress was saying. “I’m so totally happy!” Clare waited.

  “Your church,” Mr. MacPherson said suddenly. “Do they do anything to help boys like Todd. Any programs?”

  “Help him? How?”

  “You know. When a boy is confused. Help him see that he can be a perfectly normal man. It’s all conditioning; that’s what I’ve read. You just have to help them make the right connections.” He broke his gaze away from the television screen and looked at Clare. His eyes had a desperate quality to them. “I know he could stop being…that way if he just had some support. Like AA.” He shot a bitter look at the rest of his family, who were clustered around Russ. “They’re no help.”

  Clare took a moment before answering. “I have heard of those programs. Attempting to convert homosexuals to heterosexuality. St. Alban’s—and the Episcopal church in general—doesn’t do anything like that, no. And from what I understand, the groups that do have a very poor long-term success rate.” She touched his sleeve lightly. “I do believe there’s a much higher level of success in support groups that help parents come to grips with their kids’ sexual orientations.”

  His eyes sparked, hot and hard. “He’s just had the crap beaten out of him because of what he is. Why the hell should I accept that?”

  “Because he’s just had the crap beaten out of him for bei
ng what he is. If he could have changed himself, don’t you think he would have?”

  “I just want my kid to be normal. Is that so bad? They can fix anything in your head these days, between the drugs and the therapy. Why not fix this?”

  “Mr. MacPherson,” she said, “what sort of counseling or drug could make you turn from a heterosexual to a homosexual?”

  He looked at her, and she could see that she hadn’t reached him at all. She sighed and turned back to where Russ was finishing up with the other MacPhersons. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three business cards. “If you think of anything, even if you’re not sure it has any relationship, even if you think we already know it, give us a call.” He gestured toward the door. “I’m going to be back later, when Todd is awake. I’ll interview him. If we’re lucky, he’ll be able to identify his attackers, and all the rest of this will be moot. I’ll see you all then.” He shook hands with Mrs. MacPherson and Tim. “Thanks for all your cooperation. Reverend Fergusson, can I see you outside for a moment?”

  As soon as the door to the waiting room closed behind them, they turned to each other. “What are you doing here?” Russ said.

  “Why didn’t you tell them about Emil Dvorak?” Clare asked at the same time.

  “I didn’t—” he began as she said, “They were—” They both took a breath.

  “Why don’t you—” they both said.

  Russ put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a small shake. “You first. Why are you here with Todd MacPherson’s family? Do you know him?”

  “I was supposed to marry his sister, Trisha MacPherson, and Kurt Engels this afternoon.”

  “Ouch. That’s gotta be tough. Do they belong to your church?”

  “No. I didn’t know them before I did their premarital counseling. If you want to get married in Millers Kill in a beautiful old church, your choices are St. Alban’s, First Presbyterian, or High Street Baptist. Dr. McFeely at First Presbyterian wants engaged couples to have some connection to his parish, and Reverend Inman wants to be assured they haven’t been sleeping together before the ceremony. So I do a pretty brisk business. My turn. Why didn’t you tell them this is the second episode of gay-bashing in four days?”

  “Because my thinking hasn’t changed on this. I don’t want to start rumors that someone is going around attacking gays, or gay-owned businesses.”

  “That is completely irresponsible! You can’t possibly believe that this is a coincidence!” Her voice rose on the last word. He took her upper arm and dragged her a few steps down the hallway, away from the waiting room.

  “I don’t believe in coincidence. But starting a panic about who might or might not be next in line for a visit from the heterosexual hit men isn’t going to serve any purpose other than to scare a lot of people and give the town a bad name.”

  “It could alert potential victims to take precautions. It could bring in more information to help you find the perps.” He gave her a one-sided smile. She ignored it. “It could tell people to keep their eyes on gay-owned businesses for suspicious activities. If Todd MacPherson had known there was a chance he was going to be attacked because of his sexual orientation, there’s a good chance we’d all be getting ready for a wedding right now, instead of waiting for him to get out of surgery.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “One,” he said, counting off on his fingers, “there wasn’t any pattern of attacks until after MacPherson was beaten up. So there wasn’t anything for him to know. Two, we’ve already briefed the Post-Star on Emil’s attack. Our take was that an area doctor was rammed and mugged while he was out driving in his convertible. We asked for anyone with information on a red vehicle with new damage to the body to call us.”

  “That makes it sound like he was robbed. If people read the words doctor and convertible, ninety-nine percent of them are going to assume he was rich.”

  “Fine. I don’t mind scaring rich people. They already take precautions against attack.” He ticked off a third finger. “Three, like I said when we were at the inn, if word gets out that someone might be targeting gay-owned operations, it’s likely to cost the owners business. Even if there are good-hearted neighbors around to keep watch, customers are going to stay away. It’s my job to protect Millers Kill and Fort Henry and Cossayuharie. Some businesses make half their yearly income between Memorial and Labor Day. I’m not going to hurt them if I can help it.”

  She leaned against the smooth, cool wall. “Now you sound like the mayor in Jaws. Don’t yell ‘shark,’ ’cause it’ll hurt business.”

  “If I thought I could catch who’s responsible for these attacks by closing down the town, I would. But singling out certain businesses or individuals and telling them they may be next won’t do that.”

  “But you might prevent another person from being hurt!”

  “Look, the take on MacPherson’s attack is going to be that a small-business owner, closing up all alone, was assaulted. There’s going to be a statement from me in the Post-Star urging all businesses to take extra precautions at closing time. The population around here doubles in the summer, and God knows what sort of lowlifes come floating in for the carny rides in Lake George and the fake rodeos in Lake Luzerne.”

  “Is that who you think is behind this? Some rednecks from out of town, up here for a little fresh mountain air and blood sports?”

  He sighed. “It could be. The timing certainly suggests so.” He pushed his hand through his hair, causing it to fall unevenly across his forehead. “If it is, it should be easier to spot the red vehicle. You can’t just garage your car and drive another one when you’re on vacation.”

  “Russ, I can understand your concern about singling out businesses as potential trouble spots. And I can understand you not wanting Millers Kill to be associated with this sort of vicious behavior. But if you don’t let it be known that you believe gays are being targeted, you’re keeping individuals from being able to protect themselves.”

  “I’m keeping them from being singled out. This is a small town, Clare. How many homosexuals do you think are out of the closet here? Every guy with a high voice and every woman with cropped hair and no makeup will suddenly be a source of speculation. Or worse, a potential target for any homophobe reading the paper who thinks, ‘That’s a good idea! I’m gonna get me a faggot!’ ” He leaned against the wall. “Let them stay safely hidden.”

  “That’s bull.”

  He straightened up and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “What?”

  “You heard me. Bull. It’s that sort of attitude that allows homophobia to flourish. ‘They’re different. They’re not like us. We don’t know any. Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ ” She pushed away from the wall and pulled her hair back in both hands, twisting it. “I saw the same sort of crap in the army. Force people to hide who and what they are and then act surprised that you’ve created a culture where it’s okay to make fag jokes and harass people who act ‘funny.’ How do you convince Joe Six-Pack that being gay’s not a fate worse than death when it is a fate worse than death if you’re found out?”

  “Clare, I’m trying to solve a pair of assault cases here. I’m sorry, but eradicating prejudice and stupidity are beyond the scope of my job. As is reforming the U.S. Army.”

  She exhaled. “I’m not asking you to do that. Sometimes I get a little…global when a problem gets under my skin.” She glanced up at him. “I still think you’re making a mistake.”

  “I respect your opinion. But this is a real short chain of command here. I’m the cop and you’re the priest, and what I say goes. Period. I want you to promise me that you aren’t going to run to the Post-Star or preach your next sermon on the possible connection between Emil and MacPherson.”

  She frowned and crossed her arms.

  “Promise me—”

  “All right. I promise. But I swear, if there’s one more incident, I’m going to organize a Take Back the Night march and start it right at the front steps of the police station.”


  “Don’t worry. If there’s one more incident, the press is going to be all over this like a hog on slop, and then everybody will be weighing in with their opinion.” He pushed away from the wall and began strolling toward the elevator doors at the end of the surgery unit. Clare fell into step beside him. “However,” he added, “there’s not going to be another incident if I can help it. Every man on the force, full- or part-time, is on duty this weekend.”

  “Is that because of these assaults, or because it’s the Fourth?”

  “Everyone’s usually on duty for at least part of the Fourth. The road race tomorrow will suck up a lot of manpower. Then there are parties and barbecues…. Ican guarantee you that before the fireworks go off, we’ll have handled a dozen domestic fights, three car accidents, at least one kid doing something incredibly stupid with a bottle rocket, and somebody who’s gotten drunk and fallen into the Kill.” He stopped at the elevators. “You coming or staying?”

  “I’m staying with the family until Todd’s out of surgery.”

  He punched the down button. “Every one of my men is gonna be briefed on this and on the alert for anything suspicious. Not to mention looking for a red vehicle with impact damage.”

  The elevator chimed. The door opened and Russ entered, waving a half salute at Clare.

  “Speaking of prejudice,” she said.

  “Huh?” He caught the edge of the door before it closed.

  “How come there aren’t any women on the police force?”

  The last thing she saw of him were his eyes, rolling back in his head.